


Laundry Day

by Lucretiassister



Series: Splendors Sequels [1]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Family Fluff, Nampara life, Soccer Mom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21688603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucretiassister/pseuds/Lucretiassister
Summary: On a rainy Saturday in autumn, the Poldark children help their tired mother.(A sequel to Which By Its Splendors Rivals the Heavens)
Relationships: Demelza Carne/Ross Poldark
Series: Splendors Sequels [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563472
Comments: 28
Kudos: 47





	Laundry Day

**Author's Note:**

> This sequel takes place ten years after Which By Its Splendors Rivals the Heavens (a Poldark Modern AU), but one needn't have read the first work to follow along here.

Ross awoke to restless stirring beside him. Arms twitched, legs flexed. The ancient mahogany bed creaked as weight was carefully shifted from one side to another. His first instinct was to throw his own arm over his wife and pull her close to him, to bury his face in the great pile of soft red hair that was spread across the pillow. But then he thought better of it. If something was disturbing Demelza’s sleep, she probably best knew how to address it. He’d need to trust her, even if he wanted to hold her tight to assuage his own anxieties. He opened one eye and watched as she stealthily slipped out from under the covers and stretched before tiptoeing from the dark bedroom. 

He could always follow her if he was so concerned. Just the other night he had done that.

“My love?” he had asked just before she crept down the stairs. At once she was apologetic, ashamed for having woken him.

“Ross, go back to bed. I’m fine. I’ll just maybe stretch my legs…” she began.

“You’re not considering going for a walk?” he asked incredulously. It was 3 AM. In their first months together it would not have been completely unheard of for her to do such a thing. She hadn’t been reckless--no, that was his tendency--but she’d been adventurous. A full moon, an owl calling, a sudden longing for sea air would be enough to get her wandering in the dark. She no longer took such physical risks, not since becoming a mother and learning for herself how it felt to worry over someone she loved. But she was at times still restless and needed to be moving. Especially so these past few weeks. 

“No, Ross, I’m just going to the kitchen. Perhaps warm some milk and maybe do some reading? I just can’t sleep and it’s no use pretending I can or fretting about waking you,” she said.

“Well, I’m already awake so at least let me attend to you,” he offered.

“Please Ross. It would soothe me most if you went back to bed. You’ve got to be up early tomorrow,” she begged, her eyes glistening with warmth. There was something in them he recognised, and he knew he couldn’t argue. She had to trust her instinct and since he wasn’t privy to the inner workings of her body, he had to trust her.

So this night Ross rolled over and closed his eyes again with a resigned sigh. After a few minutes during which a litany of worries, irrational and rational, danced through his mind, he managed to drift back to sleep.

The next morning Ross found Demelza standing just outside the front door in her dressing gown and pajamas. Her arms were outstretched and she was taking deep, deliberate breaths of the brisk October morning.

The change in light, an autumnal shift, had happened gradually without them realising it. And the air felt different now as well—damp but cooler and more pungent, as the leaves and grass began their decay. The morning mist never really dried anymore but lingered throughout the day and into the evening. 

Clad only in a t-shirt and flannel sleep bottoms, Ross shivered then came up behind and gave her a gentle kiss on her ear. 

“You look occupied. What are you doing?” he asked her softly.

“I'm being grateful. Or trying to, anyway,” she said, unable to hide the slight exasperation in her tired voice.

“Okay…” he encouraged her to continue.

“I'm grateful that sometimes the moon let's us see her even in the morning--just a reminder that she’s still there even when we’re fixated on the sun instead,” she said and nodded to the pale orb still visible in the pink western sky. “And I’m grateful to witness that magical explosion of starlings up there,” she pointed again, this time to the swarm of little birds that stretched then dove together in unison before continuing out of sight beyond the trees. “They aren’t normally so many gathered in the morning. I'm grateful that we live in a time that we can understand the science and even the mathematics behind their murmurations and don’t have to worry that it is some sort of omen _.”_

“Mathematics? Are you going to explain that to me…?” he smiled

“Yes but not now. And I’m grateful that we can still hear the crickets and the frost hasn’t driven them all away.”

“ _The voice of the last cricket across the first frost, is one kind of good-bye. It is so thin a splinter of singing…”_ he offered. Carl Sandburg was a favourite of his and he knew, that even after all these years, she was still moved when he spontaneously broke out a line or two of poetry.

She leaned back against him, and without turning around, reached up to stroke his beard. He kissed her fingers when they came close enough to his mouth.

“And mostly I’m grateful that I have two lovely, able-bodied children who are healthy enough to play sport and have free time to do it, who don't have to work to support their families…”

“But?” He sensed there was more to this.

“But...I do wish I didn't spend all my _fucking_ time chasing after their football kits!” she laughed and turned to him, now ready to unload her full complaint. “Their boots smell like unneutered cat piss. And the socks--they are killing me, Ross. Half get lost--and we never seem to have the colour we need--then when I find them at the bottom of a sports bag or under a bed or left behind in the car, they’ve been wet and muddy for days by that point, and stink to high heaven. Just one day, Ross, for one day, I’d like to not be...”

“Not be what?” he smiled and rubbed her arm reassuringly.

“The laundress of Nampara!”

“And instead?” he asked, playing along.

“Just be someone else!”

Amused at her animated rant, his tongue poked out between his lips playfully. He knew this wasn’t really the time to remind her that her own socks were strewn across their bedroom floor, that yesterday’s clothes--and the day before’s--were still draped over the chair next to their bed. Early in their relationship he used to joke that she needed a lady’s maid or a valet to corral her wayward garments that she seemed to abandon immediately after she shed them. 

Ross also knew when Demelza was truly vexed and this was not one of those times. Instead she was looking for some commiseration. 

“My love, you know there are practical solutions. We have a paid help. Did it not occur to you to ask Prudie to take on the laundry?” 

Demelza’s raised brow told him she did not think their housekeeper would be up for the complex task of sock wrangling. Prudie had always been well intentioned when it came to housework just not quite always effective. She had, however, proven to be a brilliant caregiver for the Poldark children.

“Or I could…” he began.

“You could not,” she said at once then lightened her tone in her continued pursuit of gratitude. “Oh Ross, no offence. You do your fair share of housework and parenting and I have no complaints about you as a husband but this just doesn’t really speak to your strengths, does it?” 

Demelza was correct. Ross Poldark was by no means the hapless dad. He cooked breakfast most mornings, washed dishes at night, sewed on loose buttons when needed, and even took their children for their annual jabs at the paediatrician. And while it may not have been fair, she’d established herself over the years as a masterful finder of things, whether they be shoes or socks or the tiniest of legos. Ross chalked it up to her years of field observation--she just noticed things that were lost on him. He tried a different tack. 

“Perhaps it’s time the children learned to take on more responsibility?”

“Perhaps I should leave and then they’d finally learn to fend for themselves?” she teased.

“Perhaps you should,” he laughed. “But I do seem to recall, Dr. Carne, it was _your_ idea to have children.”

“It was not! Not my idea alone, anyway. We mutually agreed on this folly and you were pretty enthusiastic about it, if _I_ recall. You love babies so damn much…” she pretended to grumble.

“So do you,” he said.

“Well yes…”

“My love, I thought you might want this,” he said and handed her the steaming mug he’d been holding for her.

“And I am grateful to have a wonderful husband who reads my moods and knows the exact moment I need a cup of coffee.” She cocked her head and smiled, then kissed him on his lips while slyly taking the cup from him. She never could stay cross or even frustrated for long.

“Demelza, I have brought you a cup of coffee every morning since you moved into Nampara. That’s thousands of cups over the years,” he reminded her.

“And each one has always been well timed. This one is perfect,” she said taking a sip. “Well _almost_ perfect,” she admitted.

“Just a few more months, my love, and then you can go back to caffeine.” He kissed her head knowing it was a poor consolation.

She rubbed her round belly and smiled again. “Oh Ross, I'm not complaining--it's worth the little sacrifice. I’ve done it before, I can manage again. Oof, this one is ready for football too, the way she kicks!”

“I’m sorry. I believe she gets that from me. Is that what kept you up last night?”

“Yes, but I’d better get used to it. We have about ten more weeks of her shenanigans.”

“Unless she comes early, like Clowance did.”

“Or late, like Jeremy. Maybe she’ll share a birthday with you, Ross? In either case, we certainly won’t be getting more sleep _after_ she arrives.”

“Demelza, what time is Clowance’s match this morning?”

“Noon. Why? Ross? You can make it, can’t you? She’ll be devastated and never let _me_ hear the end of it if you can’t…”

Over the years Demelza had demonstrated she was a committed football fan and would drop just about anything to watch Liverpool, the team to whom she was most loyal though she’d only lived in the city for less than a year. And she had never missed a single one of Clowance or Jeremy’s matches. Yet no matter how knowledgeable she was of the sport nor how supportive she was of the children’s endeavours, they always seemed to be vying for Ross’s attention whilst playing. 

Recently Ross had taken to practising with them in the yard and this had stoked all sorts of competitive feelings. Jeremy would sprint as fast as he could away from his sister whether he had the ball or not, which always served to frustrate Clowance since she could never keep up. 

“Tell him to stay in position, Daddy!” she’d wail. ”He runs too much. And now he’s off sides.”

“We’re playing two on one, Clowance. There are no off sides!” Jeremy would scoff.

Ross was always goalkeeper--the position he played when he was a boy--and although Jeremy seemed to go easy on him, Clowance enjoyed slamming the ball at him with as much force as her stocky little legs could muster. She always seemed to aim for his face. 

“No, I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” Ross said to Demelza, relieved that today he would not be the one on the receiving end of Clowance’s kicks. “But I had an idea, something I want to do beforehand. Drink your coffee and then go get dressed. I want to take you for a drive…”

\-----

“Clow, get up!” Jeremy shook his sister.

“What? Why? I’m sleeping,” she protested.

“No you’re not! Clow! It’s urgent. Mum said…” he began.

“Did she make pancakes?” Clowance sat up gleefully.

“No...she’s leaving us.”

“Does she have a work trip?” she asked, confused.

“No, she’s tired of our shoes. They smell too bad, like cats.”

“What? That’s silly. Daddy smells worse. She wouldn’t leave us--she loves us,” Clowance shook her head in disbelief. It didn’t make sense.

“That’s what she said--she loves us and is grateful for us, but she’s had enough. I overheard her talking to Dad outside this morning.” Jeremy’s face was grim. 

He never lied to her. This must be true. 

“What about the new baby? Will Mummy leave that behind too? Oh no, I don't want to take care of a baby all by myself!” Clowance squealed in panic.

“Babies smell bad too, so maybe,” Jeremy said.

“Oh Jeremy! What will we do?”

“For starters, we have to wash our own clothes.” he answered.

“Let’s ask Prudie to…”

“No...we have to show Mum we can take care of ourselves. Go on, then, get your kit together and I'll get mine.” His match wasn’t until the next day but it wouldn't hurt to be ready. “C’mon, Clow. We can do this.”

“Yes, Jeremy,” she sniffed bravely.

Ten minutes later they stood in front of the washing machine just off the kitchen, their arms full of all they could gather up. Solemnly they began to shove it all in--their team kits, unmatched socks, track pants. Then Jeremy had a flash.

“Clowance, hand over your hoodie.”

“No, I wanna wear it,” she pouted and snatched it from the peg on the wall before he could confiscate it.

“Clowance! It’s filthy. Looks at the sleeves--dirt and what is that?” He sneered at the grubby cuffs that once were a pale pink but now were streaked and grey.

“Jam from yesterday’s tarts,” she explained.

“No, that! That’s snot! Don’t you ever use a tissue? How many times has Mum told you not to wipe your nose on your…”

“Too many.” Ashamed, she handed it over.

“Better wash these too,” Jeremy said and crammed in both pairs of the offensive football boots.

“Bye, dead cats,” Clowance said mournfully.

“Not dead. Unneutered. The smell is from their hormones.”

“What’s hormones?”

“Never mind. Hand me the powder.”

\----

“Well that wasn’t so difficult, was it?” Jeremy said proudly.

“What do we do now?”

“We wait until the cycle is over,” he replied.

“Are you sure you chose the right one?” she questioned.

“Yes, this is the eco program Mum uses. C’mon, let’s make ourselves some breakfast.”

“Shouldn’t we ask Prudie if…”

“No, let her sleep in today,” Jeremy insisted.

Clowance had wanted a fry up but Jeremy wisely suggested that cereal would be faster and easier. She sulked a bit then finally gave in and ate her soggy bowlful, cheering when she realised they had very little extra tidying up to do afterwards--just the two bowls and two spoons. 

Time dragged on. After an hour they pulled up the bench that sat by the kitchen door and set it in front of the washing machine, watching as the grey suds gently slogged back and forth, clouding the window.

“How much longer? I’m gonna go play outside,” Clowance announced.

Jeremy looked at the clock on the wall and counted forwards in his head. Surely the wash would be done soon and there would be time before Clowance’s match to load it in the tumble dryer.

Thirty minutes later, she burst back in through the door. “Well it’s raining!” she shouted.

“Enough to cancel your match?” he asked hopefully.

“Nah, they never cancel for rain. How’s it going?” she asked.

“Still on the wash cycle.” He tried to hide the anxiety in his voice. “Let’s do the washing up now. We can do it bucket brigade style, Clow. You rinse the dishes under the tap and I’ll stack them in the dishwasher. There’s a special order, you know. I’ve watched Dad do it.”

Jeremy managed to fit in the bowls as well as a few cups and saucers and other odds and ends left in the sink, and stood back proudly looking at his work. Then his heart sank. He’d just loaded dirty dishes in with ones that were already clean.

“Oh bother! We’ll just have to run the whole thing again,” he said in exasperation.

“That’s wasteful. Mummy will be angry,” Clowance said.

“Then let's be sure not to tell her?” Jeremy said through clenched teeth. Sometimes she could be so daft! He hoped his newest sister would have a better head on her shoulders.

“Jer? Why did it stop entirely?” Clowance asked him, as she wandered back over to the washing machine. The orange light suggested the cycle was still in progress, the suds seemed to have drained away but nothing was happening. “Isn’t it supposed to spin around?”

“Huh, maybe it takes a break between washing and spinning, to save energy?” he proposed.

But after another twenty minutes still nothing had happened.

“It must be finished?” He suggested and tried to open the latch but it was locked.

“Mornin’, my little mites. So quiet today--my, you let me sleep late! You look busy--whatcha been up to, then?” Prudie came breezing into the kitchen 

“Nothin’!” Clowance said quickly as though they needed to hide their plan but Prudie could easily read that something was amiss.

“We’re doing a wash and well, the machine seems stuck,” Jeremy explained.

“Well if that isn’t the sweetest thing!” It didn't take much from them to charm her. Prudie had a soft spot for the Poldark children and their schemes and messes never seemed to faze her. “Helpin’ yer mummy out, eh? Let ole Prudie take a look…” She smiled and patted Jeremy on the shoulder. “Oh my dear boy. You overloaded it--that’s why it won’t spin, see? I think we best cancel this program and take the whole lot out. Yes, if we press this button here it will drain the operation. Oh so you chose eco wash?” She laughed again and shook her head. “That takes three full hours to run its course!”

“Oh but we haven’t three hours!” Clowance squealed. “My kit’s in there and I’ll miss my match!”

“Look, go fetch a bucket and we’ll wring these wet things out, then put them on the clothesline to dry outside. If we put just your kit in the tumble dryer, Miss Clowance, it will be ready soon enough.”

“And my socks!” Clowance remembered.

“What’s all this?” Prudie asked. “Looks like someone left a tissue in a pocket? That’s a fine mess!” She picked a few wet flakes off the red sock before giving up and just tossing it in the tumble dryer as it was.

“Well it certainly wasn’t my tissue,” grumbled Clowance.

“Come then, let’s get the rest of this soppy mess outside fer now.” Somehow Prudie was still cheerful. The rain was just a light drizzle but it still seemed a better option to hang the wet laundry in the breeze then to overload the tumble dryer. 

“We can stuff your trainers full of newspaper for now and put them next to the stove. Still they might be a bit damp by the time of your game but it’s the best we can do, love,” Prudie said. “Eew!” She exclaimed after taking a whiff. “Now I see why you wanted to give them a proper wash. Well, mebbe they’ll smell fresher when they’re dry?”

“You think?” Clowance asked hopefully.

“It would be hard to smell worse.”

Prudie was right to separate out the heavier sports clothes and it didn't take very long at all before they pulled Clowance’s lightweight kit out of the tumble dryer.

“Whew!” the girl said in relief and clutched it to her lovingly.

“Uh oh, Clow look,” Jeremy said pointing to the back. One of the numbers had peeled off. Now instead of being 11, she’d be just 1.

“Oooh, probably should have used a lower heat settin’,” Prudie lamented.

“But what am I going to do, Jeremy? _Eleven_ is my number, always has been. Just like Salah! I can’t be 1--that’s Olivia’s number, she’ll kill me!” Now Clowance was in a full-on panic. 

“Give me a minute, Clowance. Bring me my paint box, I think I can fix it,” Jeremy said.

\---

“I’m exhausted,” Jeremy said sitting down at the kitchen table, his head in his hands. It had been a busy morning and although he’d made a few missteps along the way he felt he handled them all well enough for a boy his age.

Clowance had gone to change into her kit; the new number Jeremy had painted on looked decent enough. They used Prudie’s hairdryer to speed up the drying process a bit, though it was still wet in some places, and as long as it didn't rain again the paint would probably stay put for the game.

Prudie had poured the boy a glass of milk and warmed up a bun, a reward for his industry. The dishwasher hummed gently in the background and while the rain had stopped, great droplets still fell from the roof gutters and splashed in puddles under the windows.

“You know, Jeremy, sometimes you look just like yer father, when he were a boy,” Prudie beamed and patted him on the head.

“These don't feel quite right.” Clowance came in with a twisted grimace, tugging at her clothes uncomfortably. The shorts seemed rather tight around her legs and her top just barely met her waist band.

“Oh for the love of God! Don’t tell me we shrunk ‘em?” Prudie exclaimed.

But before Clowance could decide whether she should explode in tears or in rage, the dishwasher suddenly gave notice that it would be requiring all their urgent attention. Suds were seeping out the sides and bottom, creating a puddle of fine bubbles all over the floor.

Prudie raced over and yanked it open only to see the entire inside filled with suds as well. She said nothing, then scratched her head. 

“Okay...walk me through whatcha did, boy...” She looked at Jeremy and sighed.

\-----

“What in god’s name?” Ross said as he entered the parlour and heard Jeremy’s shouting and Clowance wailing.

“It’s your fault, Jeremy!” Clowance sobbed.

“Why did you have to go and sit down?” Jeremy cried in frustration.

“My loves! Whatever is wrong?” Demelza asked calmly. ”Jeremy, what happened? Why is your sister so distraught? And where is Prudie?”

“Prudie went to fetch the wet vacuum from the shed,” Jeremy explained, clearly about to break down himself. 

“Because?” Ross asked in a measured tone.

“It’s alright, alright! Prudie’s got it under control in here!” They heard Prudie’s cheerful calls from the kitchen followed by the roar of the wet vacuum as it was started up.

Ross walked briskly down the hall to peek in on her. From the parlour they could hear him roar with laughter.

“He’s not...is he angry?” Jeremy stammered, looking up at his mother.

“I see you've tried your hand at running the dishwasher,” Ross said, his eyes beaming with warmth when he stepped back into the room. “I did that once when I was a boy.”

“You used the wrong liquid, didn’t you?” Demelza asked, trying to keep a straight face and deliberately not looking at Ross.

Clowance nodded. “And we ran the clothes washer too but that was…”

“A bit of a disaster,” Jeremy said solemnly.

“Oh?” Demelza tried to encourage him to continue his tale.

“It was overloaded and wouldn’t spin so we put the clothes on the line but it was raining so they’ll never dry now and they were so heavy and Clowance's hoodie got stretched out. And our boots are still sodden and Clowance’s match is in 30 minutes…”

“But we put my kit in the tumble dryer but now it’s wrecked!” the little girl sobbed, tugging at her top. 

“Clowance? My love, that’s last season’s kit you’ve got on,” Demelza said gently. “Couldn’t you tell? It’s awfully small on you.”

“We thought it shranked! And one of the numbers got spoiled so Jeremy painted on a new one but then I forgot it was still wet and sat down on the sofa.”

“Well, now I can show you how the upholstery cleaner works too,” Demelza sighed. “As long as you used your school paint, it should come out.” 

“We did, Mummy,” the girl said with a final sniffle.

“And this year’s team kit is clean and ready to go, Clowance. It’s waiting upstairs laid out on my bed. Why don’t you go get changed?” 

“But my boots are soaking wet and they still smell like an unneutral cat…” Clowance fretted.

"A what?” Demelza cocked her head.

“Never mind my sweet,” Ross said and went back in the hallway to retrieve the large bag emblazoned with the Horizon logo. “We did a bit of shopping and have something for you both.”

“New boots!” Clowance cried after reaching in and pulling out the Adidas box. “And they’re pink! I love them! Oh Daddy!”

“It was Mummy’s idea, so thank her,” Ross laughed. “And these are for you, Jeremy.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Jeremy said and smiled politely. Then he lifted the lid and saw the Nike Pegasus running shoes. “What? How did you know I wanted _these_?”

“Well Clowance’s old football boots were almost too small so she definitely needed new ones but yours still fit well enough to last this season. Yet it seemed to me that outside of football, you'd been showing a great deal of interest in running lately, so maybe you'd find these offered better support if you want to try going longer distances?” Demelza explained.

“Oh I do, Mum!” His smile broadened.

“What's in the little bag, Mummy?” Clowance asked.

“Oh just something for your baby sister when she comes.” She pulled out some very small socks, about a dozen in various soft hues of grey, fern, and fawn. Those had been Ross’s idea. “When you two were babies, you were always losing your socks and it was a colossal struggle to keep your little feet warm,” Demelza explained.

“We’ll make sure she doesn’t lose them, Mum. We’ll be her sock guardians,” Jeremy said earnestly.

“And you're not leaving her?” Clowance asked wide eyed. Demelza bit her lip and tried not to laugh.

“Well now that I know what capable hands she’d be in, it’s an option, isn’t it?” Demelza teased. “But no, we’re not leaving her nor you. What on earth made you think such a thing?” she added gently, pulling her daughter close in a reassuring embrace.

“Well Jeremy said…”

“Nothing!” Jeremy gave his sister a sharp look. “We are here to help you, Mum...and you too, Dad.”

“I know. And I’m grateful to have such generous and responsible children.” Now Demelza tried to hide the tears that were forming in her eyes. Only Ross noticed.

“Ones we can be proud of,” he said and tousled Jeremy’s hair. “Now Clowance go get dressed and be ready to uphold the Poldark family name on the football pitch.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“I’m going to go help Prudie clean the kitchen up. Jeremy?”

“I’m right behind you, Dad.”

“I suppose I’d better…” Demelza began. 

“No, my love. Put your feet up and get some rest. The laundry will keep as will all the other tasks for today. We have a crew of eager workers here, myself as their captain,” Ross said and beamed at her from across the room.

“Oh Ross.. you know that I’m…”

“Grateful? Yes, I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Other Kinds of Treasure is also another Splendors sequel (and Christmas themed!) but not part of this series.
> 
> I'm @nervousladytraveler over on tumblr if you want to continue the conversation.


End file.
